


Flame and Phoenix

by Anjelle



Category: One Piece
Genre: Brotherly Bonding, Gen, Rebirth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-26
Updated: 2014-10-15
Packaged: 2018-02-18 20:36:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2361407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anjelle/pseuds/Anjelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phoenixes are said to be immortal - to rise from their own ashes and continue to live. So what happens when a phoenix devil fruit user dies? Amidst a losing battle, Ace finds out first-hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Firebird End

**Author's Note:**

> Set before the start of the canon series.

A persistent ache rushed through his body, settling in his back and shoulders. Wincing, he peered blearily at the sky, his hands digging into the rock beneath him as he tried to rise. His strength failed, though, and he found himself unable to move. It was too painful.

Vaguely he could make out a head of spiky, blonde hair and slightly tanned skin. The first mate hung above him, lips moving as he formed words Ace was unable to make out. He couldn't focus—couldn't hear. Through the agonizing sharpness of his wounds he could barely feel two firm hands arrive on his shoulders, jerking him as the man's expression grew desperate. He was speaking more frantically.

For just an instance he had to close his eyes. In that moment he could finally hear.

"Hold on."

Opening them once more, Ace found the blonde was gone. Leaving not a trace, he just seemed to vanish. At first he didn't care—it didn't bother him—but as he lay there against the hard, jagged stone, he remembered where he was: a battle field. He bit his lip.

Forcing himself up, leaning back against his forearms, he peered ahead. He could see his crewmates still fighting, thrusting their swords at the enemy marines. He saw bodies, both uniformed and not, strung along the ground in pools of blood. His brothers…

And then he saw him—Akainu.

As the Admiral moved to attack him, his eyes widened. He couldn't move—couldn't escape. And then, just as the man move forward, he saw that same head of blonde hair. He saw Marco, seastone shrapnel breaking out of the skin on his back. He saw the blood trail down his discoloured flesh to land on the grey rock beneath his feet. He saw him brace himself as the Admiral pressed onward.

Eyes enlarged to twice their size, he watched the enemy's magma fist push through the first mate's torso. He saw it come clean through the other side, leaving nothing in its place. Unable to do anything—to help—he merely sat there as Marco's body went limp, held up only by the appendage that threatened his life.

When Akainu removed his arm and allowed his victim to fall to the ground, he realized that the blonde would be unable to regenerate.

He just stayed there, shocked, as the marine used all of his strength to kick the unmoving figure of the first division commander as far as he could manage. He flew through the air like he was nothing.

"M... Marc…"

And just like that, the last of his strength failed him. He collapsed back to the cold, unfeeling ground. Mind clouded and vision fading, the image of his crewmate—his older brother—being tossed aside carved itself into his mind.

Marco was dead, wasn't he?

The next time Ace woke he found himself back on the Moby Dick, safe and sound as though nothing happened. The only thing out of the norm was that he was bandaged up, laying in one of the infirmary's beds with some of the other crew members and… Marco wasn't among them.

He got the gist of what happened after he passed out; they retreated, of course. The first and second divisions had been sent to scour an island ahead of the main ship to check for marines. They found them alright. Amidst crumbling ruins and dense forest they waited for them, clearly tipped off by someone who saw that the infamous Whitebeard pirates were in the vicinity. Akainu guessed which island they were heading to and was right. The only reason they weren't completely annihilated was because Oyaji had a bad feeling and sent two divisions instead of one. If he hadn't…

"Hey," came a hesitant voice to his side. The sound was enough to break Ace away from his thoughts and he turned to face it, seeing Thatch. He made no response, though, because of the numbing pain and drowsiness that coursed through his body. "How ya feeling?"

The commander turned away from his redheaded friend, opting instead to stare at the ceiling. Ace didn't care how he was feeling. It didn't matter. "Where's Marco?" He kept his eyes off of Thatch as he said that, unwilling to see his reaction.

"Ace, he… You saw," he started as his voice trembled and tripped over the words. He didn't have to see to know that the man was clenching every muscle in his body. "…When we saw the smoke coming from the island we went to help. I was there... Nobody could survive that, Ace."

The boy felt a breath hitch in his throat. Gritting his teeth, he fought back against the stinging in his eyes. "He can't… Marco, he… he's a phoenix. He's supposed to be immortal."

He heard the other let out a shaky breath. "The seastone," he pointed out. Finishing the thought was unnecessary, he discovered, spotting the broken look in the freckled pirate's eyes. "…He's gone."

Ace cringed. Over and over he saw the blonde kicked into the air like a ragdoll, all-the-while knowing it was his fault. He was to blame. He wasn't strong enough—couldn't protect himself, much less anyone else. And forever he would have his brother's blood on his hands with the knowledge that he was powerless to save him.

"Then…" Ace prepared himself for his next question and swallowed as he drew in a panicked breath. "…Have you buried him yet?" Asking that, he finally looked at the redhead's face.

Thatch turned away. "…We didn't have time to search for him. The marines were right behind us."

Ace's eyes widened. "He's still out there?" The other gave a curt nod. Pausing, Ace thought that over in his head. "…How long?"

"Huh?"

"How long was I out?"

Thatch thought before speaking. "Two days," he replied, deciding it best to add some further information. "We're hiding in a cape on the far side of the island until you guys get back on your feet. The marines left last night, so we should be safe."

Ace nodded. "Then I'll go look for him."

"Have you seen your body? You can't even get out of bed!" he shouted frantically. After a pause he calmed and turned to a more solemn look. "I don't think I could handle losing both of you."

"I'll wait 'til tomorrow, then."

"That's not—"

"I've made up my mind." Ace's eyes narrowed as he looked up to stare once more at the wood of the ceiling. "It's my fault he…" His voice faded. "It's the least I can do. He's family, Thatch."

A long silence passed between them. The mood was thick—unsettling. Finally the redhead sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, mauling over what to say in his head. In the end he seemed to give up. "Fine, you're right. But I'm going with you."

The nighttime found Ace struggling to walk across the deck. Eventually he made it to the railing—a spot invisible to the night watch—and leaned against it, looking out into the dark cope in which the ship was settled. Finally he was alone. Finally he could cry.

The warmth of his tears swelled up in his eyes and careened down the sides of his face. He bit his lip to muffle his whimpers in a desperate attempt to hide his sorrows from any prying ears. The boy didn't want anyone to see him like that. As sure as he was many others did the same, his pride wouldn't allow him to mourn in public. But he had to let it out. Even being the type of man he was, he had to cry. That was Marco—his superior, his friend, his brother. He was one of the first to reach out to him when he was taken in by Oyaji. One of the only people Ace could open up to, Marco was just as much his family as Luffy and Sabo were, and just as much as Whitebeard still was.

Ace passed a trembling hand across his forehead and through his coal-black strands, brushing aside the sweat and dirt that had yet to be washed away. He lowered his head to allow the tiny droplets from his eyes to drip into the sea and wash away all evidence of his moment of weakness.

The pirate let his emotions run wild because he knew, come morning, he wouldn't have the chance.

Ace took a deep breath as he stared out at the lush greenery of the island and ignored his body's silent screams for him to go back to the ship. He got permission from Whitebeard to begin his search and found many of the commanders eager to assist. It at least meant that they could cover more ground. Hopefully whoever found the first commander's rotting corpse didn't become too distraught; it was sure to be quite a gruesome sight.

Putting the dark wonderings of his mind behind him, he pressed into the forest. Each step had him biting the inside of his cheek, fighting back gasps as his legs throbbed under his weight. He knew he was in no condition to be out of bed but that wasn't about to stop him. If there was one thing Ace had, it was determination—or stubbornness, depending on how it was looked at.

It was a typical summer island with a beach, forest and remnants of some failed civilization. Apart from being chillier than most, it wasn't anything special. The pirate saw places like that all of the time and there wasn't much to take in, especially considering how used to travelling through nature he was. He grew up in a mountain forest and hung out in a dump—nothing surprised him.

Hours passed with no sign of the commander's remains. Ace's legs were almost like jelly under him and he didn't know how much longer he could hold out. If he didn't make progress soon he would have no choice but to turn back for the day; his agreement with Oyaji was that he wouldn't push himself too far.

The whole time he searched all he could think about was that damned Akainu and how he shoved Marco aside like he was nothing more than trash. He supposed that's all pirates were to the marines, though. Just the thought made weak flames rise to his shoulders in anger. Marco was more than that. They all were.

Amidst his internal rant he spotted something blue poking out through the dark green foliage of the forest. His brain froze and immediately he made a dash for it, ignoring his body's protests. But he didn't find what he expected. Instead of finding some remnant of his crewmate there was a large, pale-blue eggshell. While it was an interesting sight, it had him slumping his shoulders in disappointment. He had to wonder what hatched from it. Whatever it was, if the egg was that size he didn't want to meet the mother, especially with how beat up he was. So, keeping far from the broken shell, he pressed forward.

The next time he saw something peculiar he didn't get his hopes up. Once he noted a purple object in the grass he immediately dismissed it as a plant or flower or something equally mundane. But as he neared it his interest grew—along with his dread.

There were Marco's clothes. Ripped, tattered and covered in blood, he could do nothing but gawk at the worn articles so familiar yet foreign. He could see a charred hole in what he assumed was once the blonde's shirt. Smaller burn marks generously covered rest and everything was torn apart. Nothing was left of the body, though.

Looking back to the blue eggshell, Ace couldn't help but wonder if maybe that was the cause of his comrade's disappearance—if whatever thing that egg belonged to decided that the commander's corpse would make a nice snack.

"Damn it!" Ace flung his fist into the nearest tree with not even half of his usual strength—a testament to the severity of his injuries. He clenched his jaw as his mind supplied him with graphic images of what might have happened. He couldn't help but imagine the partially-rotted flesh of his dear friend being burned away by stomach acid. Were it not for his injuries, he would have chased the beast down to exact bittersweet revenge.

With the release of a shuddering breath, he tried to calm himself. Nothing good came from getting angry. It was his temper that got him hurt in the first place—that got Marco killed. It wasn't some dumb bird or snake that was to blame. It was him.

Quiet, soft, almost-inaudible moaning met his ears. Fist still against the tree, Ace twisted his torso around in search of the culprit. The only thing there aside from the lush greenery that engulfed him was the hatched blue egg. He narrowed his eyes and watched it cautiously but when nothing happened he sighed and scratched his head. I'm paranoid.

Then he heard something more muffled than before. He couldn't make it out. As Ace steadily moved to near the large, blue eyesore, he tried to peer inside it. Closer and closer he got, shoulders tensed in case whatever it was decided to attack. He readied his flames.

When he finally got close enough to see inside the shell he froze. He thought he would find a small animal of some kind rummaging around in there. What he did not expect was to find a tiny, bare child sleeping at the bottom.

The little boy looked to be only a few years old and stirred slightly in his sleep. His skin was coloured ever so slightly, preventing him from blending in with the pale of the egg. What was most shocking was that Ace thought him familiar, if not for his features then for his unexplainable hairstyle that so closely resembled a certain tropical fruit.


	2. Legend Has It

Looking at the blonde boy resting within the eggshell, Ace wiped a stressed hand through his wavy strands. His eyes were still enlarged as he tried to figure out just what he was seeing. He knew it couldn't be real. There was a  _human child_  lying in a _giant eggshell_. It had to be a hallucination of some kind—perhaps brought on by blood loss from his injuries. Or maybe he was crazy. It didn't matter; all that he needed to know was that something was very, very wrong.

Ace contemplated walking away from it—forgetting everything he saw. It would be so simple. When he went to turn around, however, he found himself moving to once more look inside the eggshell. He growled low in his throat as guilt welled in his chest, looking at that sleeping face. It looked so much like…

He swallowed. One thing he needed to confirm was whether what he was seeing was real or not. Once that was out of the way he could freak out or smash stuff or do whatever else he wanted. So, cautiously, he reached inside the egg. Fingers brushing against the side of the boy's face, he realized all too quickly that he was real when he made contact with skin. The pirate didn't have time to dwell on that, though, when he felt how cold he was.

Ace bit his lip. There was a strong breeze that day and the air was already a bit chilled, despite it being a summer island. While he could maul over his discovery all day he knew it wouldn't be good for the kid to stay out in that weather—naked, no less.

The freckled man resigned himself to look for something to wrap the child in—to warm him. To his dismay it seemed that there were no large-leafed trees or shrubs around, nor were there any big animals for him to skin—not to mention how long it would take for him to prepare a pelt for use. He didn't want to carry the kid bare, though; the temperature dropped near the shore and it wouldn't be good to bring him as he was. Leaving him there to go get something from the ship was out of the question—no telling what dangers lied in that forest.

Begrudgingly the pirate turned to his only option—the purple, black and blue materials scattered across the ground. He hated himself for doing so. But that kid… he looked so…

Shaking the thought off, he gritted his teeth and shut his eyes as he marched over to the charred remains of his crewmate's clothes and snatched the shirt from its place amongst the foliage. Without wasting so much as a second he spun back around and dropped the material onto the child's bare form.

The pirate gave the boy one last, hard look in the form of a glare. He studied his features over and over, trying to rid a certain thought from his mind. When he failed he brushed it off and bent down hesitantly, wrapping his arm around the kid's form, allowing his fallen brother's shirt to cradle him in warmth as he did so.

With the cloth securely trapping in the boy's body heat, Ace rose and thought it best to raise his own temperature in the hope that, with the make-shift blanket there, it would get rid of the chill on his skin faster. As he did so he saw the blonde snuggle closer in his sleep, likely drawn to the warmth.

The freckled man began to chew on his bottom lip. Just what the hell was he doing? He couldn't go picking up strays like that. And what if he wasn't even human? He was in a damn egg! Being part of the strongest pirate crew on the sea he saw his fair share of strange creatures, especially in the New World. He saw beasts that could transform and disguise themselves as something they weren't. There were even beings that resembled humans yet weren't. What if the kid was one of those? Or—better yet—what if 'mommy' noticed he was missing? Something had to have laid that egg and it likely wouldn't be too happy to see that its offspring was MIA.

Ace groaned. Nothing he thought could stop his legs from moving forward. Even though all of those things were a possibility, there was also a chance the kid was abandoned. The egg wasn't in a nest. It could have been dropped or taken from its parent. Or maybe he was crazy. Either way he tried to rationalize his discovery, it didn't matter; his semblance to a certain fruit was enough to guilt him into bringing the mystery-child along.

During the long trek back he managed to bump into Thatch. The redhead was off on his own search for the missing commander and was quick to notice the younger pirate's presence.

"Oi! Ace!" he shouted with a wave as he jogged over.

Ace turned his head in acknowledgement but kept trekking forward, not wanting to delay his return to the ship. He needed to show the kid-thing to Oyaji—figure out what to do. Thatch didn't seem to mind, though, because he quickly caught up and acted as though he didn't notice his crewmate's haste.

"How's the search? Haruta and I have been looking all over the damn place, but…" He trailed off. "I just wish I saw where he landed." Silence fell as they took quick strides back towards the shore, getting nearer to the treeline. "What about you? Any luck?"

The freckled youth gripped the blanketed figure of the boy just a little tighter as he tried to figure out how to answer that question. Honestly, he wasn't sure himself. But when the answer finally did leave his mouth he could have kicked himself for what he said. "I found him."

The fourth division commander was about to question him when he spotted the wrapped bundle in Ace's arms and came to a dead halt. It wasn't hard for the younger to figure out why; he said he found the first mate and yet the thing wrapped in his arms was far too small to be his body. If he had to guess, he would have thought that his friend assumed him to be carrying a  _part_  of Marco. He could only imagine what images were playing in the head of the still-mourning commander. Still he didn't break stride.

Thatch raced up to him once again, much more frantic than before. "What do you mean? O-oi, that isn't…"

Ace tensed. "I just… I don't—damn it, Thatch, I don't know," he admitted in a panicked tone of his own. Unable to explain using words, he lowered part of the worn shirt so that it bunched on the boy's shoulders, revealing his blonde tuff of hair and light features. He dared not look at the redhead's reaction. "I'm not sure  _what_  I found, but…"

"A-Ace, what…"

He could feel the commander staring at the kid, going through the same few stages of shock he'd already experience. How are you supposed to react when you see some brat who looks just like your recently-deceased best friend?

* * *

Ace and Whitebeard locked eyes, occasionally glancing at the little surprise the former brought home. Their stare-down had so far been their only form of communication since the commanders came back trailing behind Fire Fist with the kid in his arms. That was both due to Ace not knowing what to say and the old man being completely speechless.

Finally, Oyaji spoke up. "Who is this?"

The freckled pirate flinched under the question and turned to face the ground, feeling that all eyes were on him. He didn't know how to answer that. He wasn't sure himself. Earlier he blurted to Thatch that it was Marco but there was no way he could've known that. Everyone on deck saw the semblance the child shared with the first mate, including Whitebeard, but no one was bold enough to verbally announce it. They just lost the first division commander, so…

Taking a deep breath, Ace said the only thing he could. "I found him in the forest," he paused, "near Marco's clothes."

Whitebeard narrowed his eyes and then changed his focus to the boy wrapped up in a tattered cloth in his son's arms. He studied his features and, though it pained him to think, he could see very clearly who he resembled. But he wasn't sure what to tell his children.

"Uh," the freckled man started nervously, knowing that his next question wasn't going to be so well received. He had to ask, though. "Phoenixes can be reborn… right?" As soon as the words slipped from his mouth he felt the air grow cold. No doubt all of his siblings thought he was being insensitive.

"How could you—he's  _dead_ , Ace," Haruta declared in a bit of a shout, her voice shaky as her eyes welled up with tears.

Ace hung his head low as the uprising of his crewmate spread to others and they each began shouting at him in muffled, incoherent slurs. He allowed his bangs to fall in his face and instead focused on the small bundle in his arms that slept so peacefully— _alive_.

Haruta's words continued with more trembling than before. "I know it hurts," she stuttered out before her sobs grew stronger, "but we… He can't come back. H-he can't…" She couldn't hold back. Her tears fell freely as the crowd around her complained louder, feeling that their youngest brother was disrespecting their first mate.

The pirate in question tightened every muscle in his body as he listened to them, shutting his eyes tightly to try to somehow block them out. The more they said, the more he began to hate himself for asking something like that. But he really thought…

With a raise of his hand, Whitebeard had the crew fall into a dead silence. He looked at his young commander—his son—with a soft look foreign to anyone outside his crew. "According to legend, my boy," he answered with a firm nod.

Ace looked up at his captain hopefully, eyes doubling in size as he realized what the old man was implying. He pulled the blanketed child closer to his chest. "Then…"

Instead of giving his son a direct answer, Whitebeard decided to address the rest of the crew. "We'll keep him aboard until we find out more. In any case, we can't leave him here alone."

Mumbling and nodding in agreement, the crew set about returning to their duties such as watching for marines and searching the island for supplies, though not without hesitance. Few believed their younger brother's claims but most were still curious about the mystery-child.

The Yonko nodded to one of his nurses and she moved closer to Ace, holding out her arms. "Get some rest, Ace. You're still injured."

Ace shied away from the nurse, unwilling to let go of the tiny blonde after his father-figure reassured his most outlandish theory. Instead of giving him up to the woman he faced the old man. "Oyaji, can I… can I stay with him?" he asked with a pleading look in his eyes. If there was even a possibility that the boy was Marco—even if it was ridiculous—he wanted to be the one to help him out. Ace normally didn't put himself out like that, but it was his fault that battle three days ago turned so horribly wrong. He wanted to make amends.

Whitebeard looked over his son's face with a knowing expression. It was clear that he knew of the reason Ace wanted to keep close to the boy and he contemplated it in silence for the moment. "Alright, brat," he replied, watching as the youth's eyes lit up. "You take care of him."

Ace repeated those words in his head. It wasn't exactly what he planned—he wasn't good with kids—but if it could rid him of some of his guilt, he would do it without hesitation. And… Marco was always the one taking care of him. He was the 'big brother' of the crew and always had to look out for them all. He didn't know whether his idiotic theory was correct or not but he was determined to find out. Being his caretaker would be the quickest way to do that, even if it was probably a mistake. How often did he make Luffy cry when they were little?

* * *

As Whitebeard watched his son go below deck he went to rest his head on his knuckles and sighed. In a matter of three days he saw many of his men fall, among them his most trusted first mate and one of his first crew members to ever join. He bore witness to his many sons and daughters breaking down, mourning their losses, wondering if they could ever recover from the battle. And then, after all of that tragedy, his youngest son brought home a small sliver of light that might brighten his children's days.

He just hoped it wasn't a mistake.


End file.
